Sir Edward had started fifty different novels seated at his grandfather’s desk and that was where they all remained. Each one tucked away at various stages of incomplete, to be returned to when he finally found the inspiration to do them justice. His wife had laughed at him. “Another one? Really my love, I’m starting to think that your desk may be cursed?” He shrugged her off with a fresh page, tucking away her scorn with the rest of his words. “It’s a poet’s desk,” warned his father. “You won’t write much but rhyme.” “Perhaps,” said Sir Edward, “but there’s still plenty to write.”
“I was a watcher,” he told her, grinding his cigarette into the bottom of the ash tray and using his free hand to push his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Always bloody watching,” he spat. She wanted to ask what he’d been watching but somehow she felt her voice was not welcome at this conversation, at least not at this time, not right then. “I watched them all,” he said and waved a hand at the crowds milling past. It was a weekend, hot and clear so the crowds had come flocking, spilling into the cobbled streets of her little town to raid the shops and tea rooms. She curled her fingers more tightly around her watery cup of tea. “All of them!” he yelped, voice pitching. “I saw it all, each plot, each scheme, each grab for power. Tell me,” he said leaning in. “Tell me what you see in a crown?” She shrugged. “Metal?” she guessed. “Well of course, of course, but what else?” “Gems? Diamonds?” “Deeper!” “Power?” “Blood!” A tourist dressed in dungarees shot them a look and picked up his pace. “Blood?” she said hesitantly. “Why blood?” “All crowns are steeped in blood,” he said. “You won’t find a monarch in existence who hasn’t done something that leaves some sort of stain.” “Isn’t that a little cynical?” she asked. He shook his head. “I was a watcher remember, I saw the plays of power and it wasn’t just the old ones, Nefertiti, Cleopatra, Julia Cesar , it wasn’t just their sort. Power is a blood sport and that’s the fact of the matter.” She nodded slowly, lowering her hand closer to her handbag for a quick escape. “You don’t say.” “Oh but I do,” he was animated now, bouncing in his seat. “It can make you lose sight of the other things after a while. All you see is the blood.” “Sounds traumatic.” “Indeed! I grew to hate being a watcher, grew to absolutely hate it!” “And now?” She watched him pause, her hand wrapped around the straps of her handbag. “Well I’m not a watcher anymore,” he said. “You can’t hate being something you’re not.” “You can just quit?” she asked, handbag in her lap. “Of course,” he said. “You just get rid of your equipment and hey presto. No more watching.” “Equipment?” she repeated. “What equipment. Cameras and stuff?” “No, not a camera,” he said reaching for his glasses and pulling them from his face. “It’s a bit more inbuilt than that.”
“We don’t enjoy being summoned by your kind Grail.” Pulling herself from the mist Merida pressed her fingers to the rickety table-top of the patio furniture and leaned in. “We are not your servants,” she warned.
Grail lowered his morning coffee and pushed it away. It had turned cold the moment the mist crept into his garden. “Why do they always send you,” he frowned. “Is there no one else?”
“No one at all,” said Merida, scowling impatiently. “ The council is less than forgiving when it comes to your crimes.”
“A miscalculation on my part,” shrugged Grail. “Something I intend to remedy very shortly.”
Publicise my poetry collection ‘Before The Words Run Out’
Continue my 100 book challenge on Goodreads!
Work out a blogging schedule.
Guess which one fell through.
I am doing Camp Nanowrimo and I’ll stick up a widgety thing so you can see how that goes. [Not so well at the moment.] But anyway, my point is that things are moving forward and next week I have a bit of time off from work so I can write and study like a fiend! If I can get at least 10,000 words down for Henry Granger then I will be happy. [I am changing the title I have decided, I just haven’t decided what I’ll change it to yet.]
As far as a blogging schedule goes things will pretty much stay the same. There will probably be more posts like these over the next month and less snippets of flash fiction and poetry though I will try and give you one piece of creative writing a week at least. There will also be some more book reviews on the way…
I have literally just lost the only pen in the entirety of my boyfriend’s room. It was here a second ago and now I need it to jot down a name so I can type it up here, I CAN’T FIND IT!
… I was sitting on it.
Anyway, as I was saying… The lovely Chantal Bellehumeur has sent me a copy of her feelgood book ‘Not Alone’ which I should be reviewing at the end of the month. I’m going to attempt to put up a new book review on the last day of each month from now on so if any of you have books you want reviewing then don’t hesitate to send me an email at email@example.com and throw them my way.
Oh, and as a final note, I managed the 10K last month so boyfriend has suggested another. All we need to do is find one. Here’s a picture of some cows.
This lovely pair of size three [sometimes four depending on the shoe] carried me to 10k the other week at Tatton Park! That’s right, I managed to complete my race for life and even raised a little bit of money as I did it.
For those of you wondering what on earth has happened to me over the last few weeks I’ll be posting a little later on to tell you why I seemed to drop off the face of the planet. Trust me. The excuses are many.
[Apologies for the quality of the photo. My phone isn’t great for taking snaps.]